Chapter 4 Rhythm Brooks
RHYTHM brOOKS
By the time I pulled up in front of Voss Contemporary House two days later, my nerves were louder than my engine. I put the car in park and looked back at my kids. For a half-second, I thought about locking the doors and going in alone. Then I realized how busy the street was.
I turned to them and started to threaten them through gritted teeth. “Listen, when we go in here, y’all better act like y’all got some sense. You hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” KJ said, a little too fast.
Kinsley nodded just because KJ had.
“I’m serious. This is a very important meeting for mommy, and I need you two on your best behavior,” I pushed.
“We gon’ act right, Ma,” KJ whined.
As I glared at him for emphasis, my phone began to ring. I looked back at it in the cup holder and blew an irritated breath when I saw that it was Kodi.
I pushed the button, sending him to voicemail. Then I took a breath, grabbed my portfolio from the passenger seat, then climbed out and started the circus of unbuckling car seats, pulling out backpacks, and straightening their jackets.
Kodi was supposed to pick them up from afterschool care that day, since I had this meeting, but the center called half an hour ago saying no one had come to pick them up.
I’d called Kodi over and over again with no answer.
My mother and Joi were both at work, so I had no choice but to pick up the kids and bring them with me.
I knew he’d done this on purpose. Kodi was trying to sabotage my meeting, but I refused to miss this opportunity.
As we made our way toward the entrance, my phone rang again. I managed to quickly pull it out of my pocket.
It was Kodi again, and I sent him to voicemail again and put my phone on vibrate.
Once inside, the lobby was clean and bright. The walls were all glass and filled with curated plants.
The receptionist’s eyes dipped to the kids, then back to me.
“Hi,” I pressed past my embarrassment. “I’m here to meet with Aria Cartier. I’m Rhythm Brooks.”
She glanced at her screen, picked up the phone, and spoke quietly into the receiver.
After a moment, she smiled. “She’ll be right out.”
A minute later, Aria walked into the lobby. She was pretty, pregnant, and looking tired in the way only moms did. She smiled as soon as she saw us.
“Rhythm?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said quickly. “I am so, so sorry for bringing my kids. Their father was supposed to pick them up and he—”
When she waved nonchalantly, my rambling stopped.
“Girl, relax,” she soothingly told me. “I have five kids. If I wasn’t blessed to have so much hired help, I’d never leave my house.”
I laughed, feeling the knot in my chest loosening. “Still… I didn’t want to look unprofessional.”
“You don’t look unprofessional at all. You look like a mother who showed up anyway,” she replied. “Come on, let’s go to the conference room. The receptionist can grab them some juice in a second.”
We followed her down a hallway lined with art.
In the conference room, Aria helped me clear a space on the table.
I laid my pieces out one by one—mamas holding babies on buses, women praying at kitchen tables, little Black kids playing on cracked sidewalks with big-city skylines behind them.
Every canvas had something about my life in it—being broke, loving hard, and trusting God anyway.
Aria took her time looking. “These are beautiful,” she nearly whispered. “They feel real. You don’t see a lot of work that shows us like this.”
My phone vibrated on the table. I cringed when I saw Kodi’s name flashing on the screen. I flipped it face down and gave my attention back to Aria.
Thankfully, Aria was focused on the piece of the woman braiding her daughter’s hair.
“What do you think about a ‘Mothers of the Block’ night here at Voss? Your work would be front and center. We would sell both prints and originals. I would love for you to do a live painting that evening as well. There is a lot we could build from something like that.”
My words came out shaky. “Wait. Just like that? You do not even know me. You saw one painting in a restaurant and now we are talking about an entire event here? Opportunities like this do not just happen for people like me.”
She looked up at me fully then, like she wanted to make sure I heard every word. “You’re right. They don’t. That is why I pay attention when I see someone doing the work with no machine behind them.”
She tapped a fingertip lightly against one of the canvases.
“I saw that painting at the restaurant, and I could not stop thinking about it for days. The expression on that mother’s face, the way you painted the kids’ hands, the skyline over her head…
it felt like Chicago and it felt like me.
Then I went to your page. You have been posting for years.
You show up with no gallery backing you, big-name tags, or gimmicks.
Just the work. It is consistent, honest, and good. ”
My throat tightened, and I had to swallow hard to keep from breaking down in grateful tears.
“When I opened Voss, I said I never wanted it to be a place that only shows artists who already ‘made it,’” Aria explained.
“I wanted women like you in here. Mothers. People who are figuring out rent and daycare and still finding the energy to create something beautiful. Your pieces show real grind and love. They tell the truth about the women in this community. That matters to me more than a résumé.” She glanced at my portfolio, then back at me.
“From a business side, your work has a clear look and message that buyers, brands, and audiences can connect with. Your colors are strong, your compositions are clean, and your themes are universal enough that brands and collectors can understand them. It photographs well. It will move prints and originals. I am not doing you a favor. I am making an investment I believe will pay off for both of us.”
My eyes burned. I blinked hard, but the room still went a little blurry. “Nobody has ever talked about my art like that.”
“Well, I am not ‘most people,’” she said with a witty smirk. “People opened doors for me when they did not have to. I remember exactly how that felt. This is me doing the same thing for someone who deserves it.”
A tear slipped out before I could stop it. I wiped it away quickly with the back of my hand, embarrassed. “I’m sorry for crying. This is so unprofessional.”
“You do not have to apologize for being grateful,” Aria urged with a smile. “If you say yes, we will build this together. You bring the art. I bring the space and the strategy. And we both walk away winning.”
I could only nod because it was hard to find the words to express how truly grateful I was. If I tried to say too much, I knew I would break.
“Thank you,” I managed. “For seeing me. For even… considering me.”
“You earned it,” she replied. “Now let us make sure the rest of the city sees you too.”
Blushing, I nodded. “Okay.”
“And I have someone who can help you even more. He handles a lot of the development and community partnerships for our family. His name is Sincere. He is always looking for real community programming to attach to what they are building. If he sees how people respond to your work, he could help us plug you into other things like grants, sponsors, maybe even getting your pieces into some of the new buildings and community spaces they are opening. If this goes well, this could be much more than just one night.”
My heart was beating so fast. Nobody had ever talked about my art like that. “I… I don’t even know what to say.”
“Say you’re ready to work,” Aria replied with a beautiful and assuring smile. “We’ll handle the rest.”
My phone started vibrating again against the table. I knew it was Kodi.
Aria quickly glanced at it, then back at me. “I’ll have my assistant send you some dates. You good with that?”
I nodded, eyes burning with grateful tears that wanted to fall. “Yes, of course, I’m good with that.”
By the time I got the kids fed, bathed, and in bed, I had twenty-five missed calls from Kodi.
If he could not respect the opportunity that might actually change his baby’s mother and children’s lives, then he did not deserve the little bit of me he was still getting.
He eventually stopped calling.
I showered, put on a Mumu, and climbed into bed. My apartment was quiet, but I could still hear a car passing outside of my window or someone in the building walking heavily upstairs.
I picked my phone back up and opened the Voss Contemporary House Instagram page.
I slowly scrolled past posts of celebrities, prominent Black artists, the large art pieces, and pictures of events and exhibits.
For the first time, instead of feeling like I was just looking in from the outside, I let myself imagine my work on those walls and my name in one of those captions. I imagined my kids pictured alongside Aria’s, dressed up and running around the gallery like they belonged there too.
I took a breath and told myself, “I’m going to do this. And I’m going to do my best work. No matter what.”
This opportunity was unbelievable. This type of blessing only happened to people like me in movies or books.
I still didn’t believe that it would really happen.
I assumed Aria would get so busy with legit opportunities that she would forget all about me.
But if by chance she saw it in her heart to give me this opportunity, I had to give it my all and my best work, and I couldn’t let life stop me.
As I continued to scroll through pictures and reels, I started seeing faces I recognized.
There was a group shot from some private event.
Aria was standing in the middle, surrounded by four men in suits.
My mother’s voice from the town hall played in my head, calling them “gangsters” under her breath.
I could not forget how those fine-ass men looked if I tried.
The photo did not tag them, but I knew it was them.